


Planning for the Worst

by sayyikes



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Day 30: A New Family, F/M, Fluff and Crack, SasoSakuMonth2020, Strange Domestic AU, sand siblings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayyikes/pseuds/sayyikes
Summary: SasoSaku Month 2020 PromptDay 30: A New Family____________“This is meaningless.” Sasori said from his seat opposite her. His right hand held the tail of Sakura's braid, while his left was slowly divesting the Nara’s TV remote of its channel presets. “We must know at least a dozen orphans who’ve survived to adulthood.”
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Sasori, Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	Planning for the Worst

Sakura stared, both entranced and aghast, at the scene unfolding in the dining room.

**_Boing._ **

“This is meaningless.” Sasori said from his seat opposite her. His right hand held the tail of Sakura's braid, while his left was slowly divesting the Nara’s TV remote of its channel presets. “We must know at least a dozen orphans who’ve survived to adulthood.” 

**_Boing._ **

“None of them gainfully employed—” 

**_Boing._ **

“—but most too ignorant to realize.” 

Sakura bit her lip. _Was_ he right? _Was_ it better to ask someone else? Someone passably responsible, who paid taxes and obeyed traffic signs? Who didn’t eat stick butter— _just_ stick butter, on its own—as a snack? (Or, if they did partake in the occasional stick, then at least removed the paper wrapping first?)

**_Boing._ **

Her conviction...it was wavering... 

**_Boing_ **

**_Boing_** **—**

 **_THWAP_** _._

“Success, yeah!” Deidara whooped. “Screw Itachi. I’m better at this game.” 

(Sakura glanced at the clock—oof. It had taken the blond 45 minutes to land a successful hit on the paddle ball board.) Maybe someone else...would be more ideal…? Or... 

_No. Nein. Nyet._ She wouldn’t let Sasori sway her on this—she was _adamant_. This was capital ‘S’ Significant. 

(“He has duplicates for the Weather Channel. Typical.”)

Sakura **had** to see this through to fruition, to extend this offer, misgivings be damned! Or else she was certain Sasori would regret it. Deep down, under his spikiness and his protestations and his just-plausibly-deniable-enough attempts at homicide, Sasori _cared_ about Deidara. If he didn’t, the blond man would already be dead. Or incarcerated. Possibly still trapped in that Blockbuster they now knew was a drug front.

A light clicking noise pulled Sakura from her thoughts.

“What are you doing now?” She quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Inverting the batteries.” Her husband said flatly.

Right.

—so maybe he wouldn't regret it today. Or tomorrow. Or even _fifty blimey years_ from now. But someday—when her redheaded husband was six feet underground, criticizing the banality of other coffins in the graveyard (blueprints for Sasori’s own bespoke casket were currently on the drafting table in their spare room) he would _kick himself_. Would lament how callously he’d treated his oldest, loudest, most cheek-turning friend. And **_then_** , deceased Sakura would have to console him for an _eterrrrrrrnityyy_. (“Adjacent plots. Good bang for your buck.” “Hush Kakuzu.”) 

The pink-haired woman squared her shoulders. 

_I’m doing this for you, ketchup-head!_ She rallied. _I’m doing this for us!_

Took a deep breath. 

“Deidara,” Sakura began. Dodged the rubber projectile volleying back and forth. “Sasori and I have a very important question to ask you.”

The elastic sprang once more, then halted.

 _Got him._

Okay. _Okay._ She’d stepped inside the revolving door that was Deidara’s attention, but there was a very small window of time in which to operate.

_Strike fast._

“I don’t know how to reset the input receiver.” He popped his gum. 

_Strike true._

“You are not—and will never be—necessary.” The red-haired man assured him.

_Barrel on!_

“—You can definitely refuse if you don’t feel comfortable saying yes.” Sakura continued. “Or, if you want some time to mull the question over, that’s fine, too. That’s totally understandable. It’s a biggish ask to drop on someone.”

Deidara’s eyes suddenly glinted in comprehension. He laid his paddle ball down on the table. (Perhaps the gravity of the situation had gotten through to him? Had he been tipped off by the laughably obvious context clues?)

“If you’re about to ask for a threesome—”

(Nope, nope, nope. Over his head and into the ceiling fan. Raining confetti down upon them.)

“—the answer is _yes_.” Deidara raised a henna-painted hand and laid it against his heart. “I’m 100% down, yeah. I have some stuff scheduled, but forget that shit. Forget what shit? See, already forgotten. You two just name the day. And let me know if I need to bring anything with me, yeah. Like, potluck style. Rubberized potluck style.”

“It’s not—” Sakura death-gripped Sasori’s shirttail as he moved to vacate the room. “— _it’s not a threesome_. It’s more of a—how should I frame this? A _favor-slash-honor_ , I guess. But that also sounds pretentious, I’m sorry.”

“Slash is good.” The blond said.

(Sasori’s shirt would need starching.)

“Good.” Sakura grinned, free hand over her belly. “Good. I’m glad.”

Deidara resumed his paddle balling. 

**_Boing._ **

**_Boing._ **

**_Boing._ **

“Because here’s the thing—”

\-----------------------------------------

“Mooooom.” Inojin gripped his seatbelt. “ _Did you just kill someone?_ ” 

“Stay in the car, honey. Don’t move. _Don’t move!_ It was probably just a recycling bin. Or a basketball hoop thing or a very, very large cicada—”

“I saw hair...”

Ino put the SUV in park. Their frappes swirled in the cupholder. She turned to face her son. 

“Inojin, you don’t want mommy to go to jail, do you? Your beautiful mom? Hmm? Who picks you up early from school for self-care days? Who’ll buy you that PlayStation you want? You _love_ your mom. Right? _Right? Right, Inojin?"_

The boy glanced nervously out the windshield. 

Ino straightened. She opened the driver’s side door and took a confident, petrified step. Then another. And again. Until she’d edged totally around her bumper and could make out the big ole lump on the ground. 

_Survey says:_

“Oh!” Ino collapsed in relief. Hysterically blissful tears welled up in her eyes. “It’s okay.” The vehicle’s headlights threw disjointed shadows across her face, and her not-as-water-proof-as-claimed mascara added to the effect. (A rabid dog turned the corner. It took in the scene and assessed that this street wasn’t safe, before trotting away to find a better, less harpy-infested avenue.) 

Coincidentally, Inojin powerlocked the SUV doors.

“It’s okay, sweetheart!” Ino laugh-cried. “It was just _Deidara._ It’s totally fine.” She fanned herself. “Whew. My heart is _racing_. That was terrifying. Whole life flashed before my eyes. _It was just Deidara!_ No prison wine for mom!”

“Holy cow,” Inojin turned to look at his father in the backseat. “Dad, are you seeing this?”

Sai smiled.

“Good thing it’s nothing worrisome.” His wife dragged their blond friend out of the street. (More because Deidara was in her way than out of actual concern for his person). “Nothing we might’ve needed to hide or bury.” One of the blond man’s boots fell off while he was being meat-crayoned against the asphalt. “Kiba still hasn’t returned that shovel he borrowed.”

Ino’s sob-worthy relief evaporated into upper arm aggravation. Why was Deidara—she lugged him towards the sidewalk— ** _so cussing heavy?_ **

The ragman mumbled. 

“I can’t understand you.” Ino hissed. Her thumb caught on his jacket zipper. “Shit—” Oooh, if she broke a nail because of him, she was gonna _lose it._ Would repaint her topcoat and then just straight-up _claw_ the imbecile.

“ _Mmbadddud._ ” The imbecile muttered.

_Like, tear him to absolute, imbecilic shreds._

“Do you need some sidewalk chalk?” She’d hauled him as far as the storm drain. “Enunciate!” 

To her surprise, the blond man yanked down on her chunky necklace. 

The woman howled. "What?!" They were eye-level, but Ino assessed acidly that she wasn't at a proper angle for headbutting. _If only I had my goddamn shovel! Fuck you Kiba, you thieving piece of_ —“What. Are. You. Trying. **To. Say?!** ”

“I,” Deidara sucked in a lungful of air. 

The streetlamps flickered on.

That stray dog from earlier stole a meatball sandwich off a drunk guy.

“I’M GOING TO BE A DAD, YEAH!”

\-----------------------------------------

“We asked him to be the godfather, and next thing we knew, he’d bolted out into the road.” Sakura chopped a carrot. “Are these small enough? (“Little more.”) ‘kay! Actually,” She diced another round. “He ran before saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

Sasori was quite pleased with this outcome. 

“In the absence of a documented answer, we default to the latter.” He said.

A shard of carrot whizzed past his ear.

“Do _I_ have a godfather?” Shikadai asked.

“Yeah,” The Nara patriarch confirmed. “Chouji.” 

Shikamaru waited until his wife’s back was turned to grab one of the already skinned potatoes from the pile. Then pretended to look hard at work contributing to dinner. Potato, potato. Dirt, dirt, potato. Shikamaru was basically a farmer. It was a simple life.

“And a godmother?” His son inquired further.

A yawn morphed into a nod.

“Kankuro.” 

(“Well. They can’t all be winners.”)

Shikadai handed his cousin a measuring cup, and tried to determine whether this new information constituted a revelation. Hmm. _No,_ he supposed. _Not truly._ It did shed light on his mother's insistence that he know how to claim a dependent on one's taxes, though. Still, worth verifying:

“Did the mindset behind that decision—”

“Revolve around your uncle being incapable of making Easy Mac? Yes.” His mother answered. Then she brought an ovenmitt down on Shikamaru’s shoulder. “You’re not even holding a peeler.” Temari tsked. “And you’re supposed to be a genius.”

(“It never explicitly says to add the water first.” A voice mumbled from the den.

“Preaching to the choir, Kank.”)

\-----------------------------------------

Sai looked at Shinki. 

“I’m adopted.” The boy reminded him. 

Sai nodded. “So probably safe, then.”

\-----------------------------------------

“Is he still out in the street?” Sakura joined her husband by the window. “Oh my g—is he being attacked by a raccoon?!”

“No.” Gaara said from the couch. He didn’t know how to manually change the channel, so infomercials were the night’s entertainment. “No, I got rid of all of those.” 

(Every member of the Sabaku/Nara clan made the sign of the cross.)

“It’s a dog.” Sasori said, Cersei-swirling his wine. Then he gave Sakura a smug look. “An omen.”

She flicked him on the forehead, exasperated. Her back hurt and her feet hurt and _they didn't have kettle chips_ , and he wasn't allowed to feign superstition only when it was convenient for him. 

“At most, it’s a sign that he needs to stop keeping beef jerky in his pockets." A nudge. "Go help him.” 

The redhead didn’t move.

_“Sasori.”_

“How about this,” He proposed. “If the dog wins, **it** gets to be anointed godparent.”

“Counter offer,” His wife crossed her arms, propping them on the swell of her abdomen. “I just become a single mom.”

“...”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. _Let’s see some hustle._ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> So it goes.  
> Even more dumb on Tumblr @sayyikes


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